coffee swirls and sunset cities
by lady-ravnclaw
Summary: Lucy paints, drinks coffee and hates endings. James has no artistic talent, has never drunk coffee, and believes ending aren't meant to be sad. Really, how could they not fall in love? James/Lucy, in which they aren't related. Muggle AU


**Coffee swirls and sunset cities.**

 _They say a picture can paint a thousand words but if I were to paint one of you it would never say enough._

Coffee swirls and hot chocolate whispers are where we began.

The first time I met you we were sat in a café. I had been working on a drawing and you had been typing away on your phone.

You approached me and told me that you'd never had coffee before.

I had gasped and gushed my way to the counter and ordered you three cups – black, milky and mocha. We had never met, and you watched me with a bemused expression on your face as I sat you down and forced you to drink them. You loved mocha so I bought you hot chocolate. You had to go to work so you took it with you with a promise of meeting with me tomorrow; same time, same place.

By the time I arrived the next day there was already a hot chocolate waiting and you were beside it a huge grin plastered onto your face, hazel eyes warm and welcoming.

We talked for hours about nothing of any consequence – the weather, seasons, books – until you swore suddenly and jumped up, knocking the table in the process. You hurriedly apologised and explained you were three hours late for work already. I grasped at your hand between both of mine " _Just take the day off"_ I pleaded, but you insisted you couldn't and before I knew it you were out the door, my hands left cold and empty.

On the third day there was no hot chocolate waiting and at first I thought you wouldn't show but suddenly from behind me arms reached round and hands covered my eyes. You were here. We ordered coffee because you were tired – you had needed to work extra hours at work to make up for your lateness – and the topic turned to careers. You told me that you worked in accounting which I bluntly told you sounded like a living hell. You laughed at that – a deep, resonating sound, which I reluctantly admit sent shivers down my spine – and asked, with one eyebrow raised, what I did for a living. I confessed in a deeply serious tone that I was involved in the extremely high-paying job of an artist. I grin childishly and you do too. You seem to take a deep interest and ask if maybe one day you could see my work. Despite my deep blush and stuttering I agree that yes, you may. You check your watch, stand and say farewell. Our time for today is over.

The next day is a Saturday and, though I highly doubt you will be there, I go to the coffee shop anyway because I go there everyday. I sit myself down and pull a pencil from it's place behind my ear. Today, I have no paper with me so instead I grab a napkin and begin to draw. Despite the rips in the tissue, I am pleased with the end result. Until I realise it's your eye. It is then I realise with an impending sense of doom that I was falling for you. The chair opposite me scrapes back and your hands reach forward and snatch the napkin out of my hands.

"This is good," you say.

"Thanks," I mutter, blushing slightly at the back of my neck.

"Is it mine?"

"Huh?" I'm lost now.

"The eye," you clarify. "I thought I recognised it."

"Oh, er, yes. Yes, it is."

"Well, well, well. I don't even know your name and already you're drawing me. I hadn't realised I was that attractive." You hold the napkin up to your face, in place of your actual eye, and admire yourself in the window.

I can't help but laugh and you chuckle softly. "Lucy," I say quietly.

"Sorry?" you glance at me, but haven't yet removed the napkin.

"That's my name. Lucy."

"I see," you sit opposite me now and lean in,studying me intently. You appear to reach a decision and sit back, arms crossed against your chest. "In that case _Lucy,_ what would you like to do today?"

"I'm sorry?" It's my turn to be confused.

"I don't work on Saturdays. I'm yours for the whole day."

"Oh," my eyes widen.

"I was hoping you might show me your work."

I narrow my eyes. "Okay, but first you must swear that you won't laugh."

You nod, seriously. "I, James Potter, do solemnly swear that I will not laugh at Lucy's work."

I stand. "Come on then, _James Potter_." We leave the café together, for the first time ever, and I can't help thinking that Lucy Potter sounds like a good name.

I lead you through the streets to the storage unit I use as a studio and open the garage-style door. As the daylight floods in, many easels are illuminated. Most of the paintings are half-completed, like ideas forgotten from idle Tuesday musings.

You step in front of me now, and begin to slowly meander passed the canvases. You stop at a particular favourite of mine – a sunset with the city silhouetted against it. Perhaps it was a cliché thing to paint but I had always found it to be a comforting image. It was home.

"Why are none of them finished?" James asked.

"I hate it when things are over," I admit. "And I keep getting distracted by other ideas."

He nods, "I get that, but just because it's over doesn't mean it has to be sad."

I smiled. "You make a good case, Mr Potter. Perhaps I will finish this today." I gesture to the sunset one.

He scuffs the floor with his shoe for a moment before asking, "Can I watch?"

"Sure, though you might get a bit bored."

You look up at me and your eyes are as sincere as I have ever seen them. "Not possible."

My stomach flips. "Hit play will you?" I point at the stereo with the paintbrush which is now in my hand. You do with a flourish. You grin at me when a Taylor Swift song starts playing.

"Hey, don't laugh. It's a known fact that Taylor is the queen of romance songs. And besides she helps me paint."

You hold your hands up in surrender. "I'm not laughing. Besides, my sister's kinda crazy about her too so..."

"Good," I nod my head once and go back to painting.

"So you want to be kissed on a _sidewalk_ ," you imitate an American accent, referencing the song lyrics and I laugh.

"Yes, I'm a hopeless romantic. Didn't you get that from the Swift and the painting."

"Well, I guess that's good news for me then," you say. I frown. "All I want to do is kiss you."

I didn't even try to stop the smile this time. You stand from your perch on the edge of the table and saunter over. I laugh nervously. You slowly cup my cheek and lean in close. My heart skips a beat. Your lips are mere millimetres from yours but before they meet a loud drumming begins. You jump a foot in the air.

"What the bloody hell was that?" you yell.

"It's just the rain." I laugh.

"Oh," you straighten your jacket and try to salvage your dignity.

"Don't worry," I mutter leaning in, "I won't tell anyone how you scare easily."

You smile gratefully. "Good, good."

Our lips meet.


End file.
